


Royally Reluctant

by philos_manthanein



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28313331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philos_manthanein/pseuds/philos_manthanein
Summary: Vergil is not happy being the heir to his father's kingdom. He would rather have his father instead.(My entry from the "It's Got To Stay In The Family" fanzine.)
Relationships: Sparda/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Royally Reluctant

Halfway through his noon meal, Vergil decided he hated his date. There wasn’t anything particularly  _ wrong _ with her. She was a pretty, noble class girl with good manners and well-groomed tastes - the type trained her whole life to one day be a queen. 

She was perfect. He would reject her. In the proper formal fashion, of course.

“You can’t keep waving off every match handed to you,” His brother Dante chastised him lightly later, as they circuited the castle gardens. “There’s plenty of princes that’d give their left nut for a catch like that.” 

“Then  _ you _ take her, brother, and give her all the  _ nuts _ you please,” Vergil smirked and lead the way to his favorite spot to sit and relax.

He did understand his brother’s frustration. It was the same ire that most of the household attendants failed to hide whenever Vergil rejected a potential wife. His responsibility as heir was to secure the line of succession, regardless of the fact he wanted to or not. 

“I get you don’t enjoy female company,” Dante sighed as he plopped himself down on the white wooden bench as well. “And I don’t envy the expectations you carry. I’m always grateful I got to be The Spare to a robustly healthy older twin.”

“You’re not helping my mood.” Vergil complained tiredly.

“All you gotta do is get hitched and pump out a couple kids,” Dante shrugged. “Hell, your wife’ll be doing  _ most _ of the work. After that, keep favorites? People aren’t really gonna care who you’re fucking long as the line is secure and you don’t run the country into the ground.”

“That’s debatable,” Vergil gave a cynical huff, preferring to watch the ducks scatter across the pond ahead than to see the lascivious grin flashing across his twin’s face. 

It wasn’t much of a secret that the princes were debauched in their own little ways. Vergil had never been caught directly in a scandal, but his curious lack of interest in women left much up to gossip. Dante on the other hand was far too openly crude - cracking vulgar jokes and flirting with anything that moved, from nobility down to the laborers. The whole kingdom likely shuddered to think what should happen to the realm if something terrible happened to Vergil. 

But Dante’s proclivities weren’t nearly as heinous as Vergil’s own, well-hidden as they were. 

That evening, Vergil made his usual appearances. Hawking practice, letter-writing, and then listening to the seemingly countless members of the peerage who wished to hen-peck every little thing about policy but weren’t fortunate enough to have their greedy little hands hold the ear of the king himself. 

Night fell and it was  _ finally _ time to make his final stop: his father’s chamber. It was another expectation forever writ into his daily schedule. King Sparda delegated certain tasks to his sons. Vergil had the most responsibilities. It was his duty to inform the king of his day, and receive instruction for the next. That didn’t mean Vergil hated it. Of all the chores he had, this closing to his day was the time he looked forward to the most. 

A chamberlain allowed Vergil inside, but left and locked the door behind him. No servants were allowed in attendance to the king’s private meetings.It was a security measure against spies but also a safeguard against scandal. Now it was just the king and the prince and the temporary, quiet solitude.

Sitting at the writing table near the bed, Sparda’s attention lifted to Vergil. He set his pen down. He smiled. Vergil’s insides fluttered. His father always set aside his work in Vergil’s presence. That made him feel special in ways no title could bestow.

Feelings a prince probably shouldn’t have toward his father.

“There’s no need to stop on my account,” Vergil bowed - short and proper.

Sparda laughed. Vergil knew he would. His father always had a fondness for Vergil’s sense of propriety, even in private. Even when they both knew where this meeting would lead. Vergil’s chest flickered again, heat soaking into his guts. 

“Come here,” Sparda waved him closer and Vergil obeyed. “You rejected another prospect today.”

Vergil stopped next to the desk. He clicked his tongue against his teeth in disappointment. He knew this would come up, but that didn’t make his displeasure lessen. 

“I did.” Vergil admitted as he pushed his fingers through his own hair. “She wasn’t to my… tastes.”

“She would have made a powerful match, regardless,” Sparda chuckled, then shrugged. “Perhaps Dante will have better luck.”

Vergil gave his father a withering look. They both knew his brother was just as capable of scaring off his matches, and he would even do so on  _ accident _ . Vergil sighed, feeling a twinge of guilt twist in his brain.

“It must be frustrating for you, having such disagreeable sons,” There was a hint of sarcasm in Vergil’s tone, but also a truth there. 

“You’re agreeable in other ways. But, maybe I  _ have _ spoiled you,” Sparda spoke softly as he reached and ran his fingers down along Vergil’s sleeve, trailing to his glove-covered hand.

Vergil shivered. He held out his hand and watched as his father pulled the glove away. The action was maddeningly slow. Sparda had only slid the material up over his palm before turning his hand to press a kiss to his skin. Just that was enough to send heat crawling up the limb to spread up Vergil’s neck and face. 

“As if I don’t spoil you, too,” Vergil managed to tease back.

“I’m a very lucky king,” Sparda replied with his lips still against Vergil’s palm even as he slid the glove away.

That fluttering sensation again; making Vergil’s pulse feel all too fast and excited. He fidgeted back and forth on his feet. He had always loved his father, even from the distant confines of his formative education in a manor far from the palace. He idolized Sparda - then and now - though his admiration had quietly turned to something unholy as he grew. It had become an unignorable draw that only in the last year or so bloomed into a very real - harshly secret - physical bond. 

Vergil felt simultaneously overjoyed and heartbroken to know his father had fallen in love with him as well. They were utterly doomed. Even if the relationship was managed to the utmost secrecy, they would suffer in the end. Vergil’s entire life’s purpose was centered around Sparda’s demise. He hated it.

“You’re thinking terrible things again,” Sparda commented, hooking his bare fingers together with Vergil’s. “That frown on your face always gives you away.”

The king pulled at Vergil, encouraging him forward. A knee placed on either side of his father’s legs, Vergil straddled Sparda in the seat. The stands of the chair creaked under their combined weight but held firm, a testament to their fine craftsmanship. This time Vergil brought Sparda’s fingers to his lips. The heat flooding his face was constant now, undoubtedly turning his pale cheeks mortifyingly pink. No matter how much they bonded this way, Vergil always felt a little abashed - a king’s mistress balancing boldness and sensitivity.

“Things wouldn’t be so terrible, if I…” Vergil trailed off, trying to select the right words as his sight fondly traced his father’s strong fingers. 

He didn’t want to wish he were never born, because then he wouldn’t have Sparda at all, yet…

“If you weren’t my son?” Sparda offered softly.

“If I were your queen, maybe.” Vergil replied with a gentle sort of chuckle, though Sparda didn’t return the amusement. 

Vergil turned his attention back to his father and leaned in for a proper kiss, finally. Just the pressure of Sparda’s mouth was enough to make some tension leave his body. He dived in deeper, wanting more. Wanting to drown out all the terrible, unchangeable things. 

Sparda’s hands came up Vergil’s legs. Sliding and squeezing through his pants. Up and up to slip under Vergil’s overcoat, to his hips where they gripped tight. A soft noise rumbled in Vergil’s throat. Heat cascaded through him so fiercely he had to pull back. He worked his other glove off and tossed it away onto the floor. 

Bringing his bare hands up, he cupped Sparda’s face and stared into his eyes. He ran his thumbs along Sparda’s cheekbones. The depth of age had started to wear on his face. A timeline to the end, stretching more and more with each day. Vergil would think his father was beautiful forever, but those wrinkles and lines were cruel taunts. 

“You’re my joy, Vergil.” Sparda whispered to him and laughed when Vergil shivered.

“You’re an insufferable old man, father.” Vergil teased back, stealing another soft kiss and smiling as he felt another laugh vibrate against his lips.

“Stay the night with me.” Sparda replied once they parted again, and Vergil nodded.

Crawling out of the chair, Vergil made for the king's large, comfortable bed. He stopped to undress, first tossing his coat over the footboard, then working to undo the many clasps of his waistcoat. Sparda came up beside him. Nudging Vergil to turn to him, Sparda started undoing his son’s clothes himself. Vergil nearly bristled. 

“This is an entire breach of protocol, your  _ highness _ .” Vergil smirked as Sparda struggled with the clasps.

“Hush, you.” Sparda joked in frustration and diligently worked at Vergil’s many layers of clothes.

It was an exercise in patience, when all Vergil wanted was to have his father  _ ravish _ him like a protagonist in a steamy romance story. But it was incredibly erotic, too. Having such a powerful man (physically and otherwise) serving him excited Vergil. This was a side to his father only he could see. Even if Sparda kept other favorites after the queen’s passing, none of those could experience what it was like to be a prince being intimately adored by a king.

Fashions being as  _ hopelessly complicated _ as they were, it took many long minutes for Vergil to be stripped and then strip Sparda down in kind. By then, Vergil was maddeningly keyed up. He burned. He was hard. And Sparda was there in the same state. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled at his father’s arms. He wanted the king over him. He wanted to suffocate. 

Sparda bent and Vergil released his arms in order to wrap his own around Sparda’s strongly toned shoulders. They kissed again - slow and so warm - but Sparda did not climb onto the bed. He stayed bent over the edge with hands planted at either side of Vergil’s body. From the kiss, Sparda lowered his mouth to Vergil’s neck, then his collarbone. Down further to his chest.

“Father?” Vergil questioned, even though some part of him blazed knowing exactly what the king was up to.

“Hush,” Sparda repeated, his breath hot on Vergil’s tenderly kissed abs now. “I want to spoil you.”

Slowly, Sparda trailed his kissing downward more. At his cock, Vergil could feel the drag of Sparda’s lips along his taut, sensitive skin. Vergil laid back and bit his bottom lip in anticipation while his father teased his tongue over him and gripped at his knees. Finally, the head of his cock felt the hot, wet enwrapping of Sparda’s mouth. 

Vergil covered his own mouth with the back of his hand to keep from groaning out loud. That wasn’t enough to contain him when Sparda so lustfully began swallowing him in and out, so he bit into his own skin. His back arched in reaction to the pleasure shooting darts up his spine. With his free hand, Vergil reached down to grip his father’s perfectly combed hair. He moaned hard into the back of his hand when Sparda gulped him down in full and he could feel the muscles of that throat working around him.

When Sparda finally pulled back, Vergil whimpered. He’d been so close - that strange pressure at the base of his pine threatening to burst. But the king had timed it perfectly to bring his son just to the edge of release. Looking down along his body, Vergil could see Sparda staring back up at him between his legs. 

In the dim and flickering light of the fireplace and the candles strewn about the room, Sparda appeared to glow with a rim of golden light. It fell across his features casting shadow in a way that made him seem almost angelic and devious at the same time. Sparda smirked and dragged his tongue along the edge of Vergil’s cockhead once more, making him shiver. 

“Come here.” Vergil quietly, desperately demanded.

Sparda obeyed, finally crawling up onto the bed. Vergil slid back, so he was in the middle, then settled to let his father meet him. Another kiss, Vergil could taste himself on his father’s tongue and his heart flipped happily. He was every inch a degenerate. In this moment, he didn’t care.

There were massaging oils kept near the bed for this. It was no real secret that they were used for  _ this _ purpose. Sparda kept them in a glass flask on a table next to the bed, setting it near a candle to let it warm. In the minutes between he smothered Vergil with affectionate touches and words, making his son easily unravel and return the admiration with the slide of his hands over Sparda’s strong body and the nip of his teeth at the well-learned sensitive spots at his ear and throat. 

It was when he felt his father’s cock push inside him that Vergil forgot all about terrible things. That was lost in the solid stretch and ache of being pulled apart and filled. The steady, slick progress of Sparda’s cock made him groan and cling. Sparda held his hands and pinned them gently above his head against the bed. Vergil hooked his legs around his father’s waist and lifted his hips to let him in deeper. He cursed. Sparda chuckled. And Vergil hummed in joy when Sparda began fucking into him.

All of their shared adoration glowed brightly when they were together like this. Shut away from the world, where what they were no longer mattered. Here they were just people. Just lovers enjoying the bliss of being together. Within that happy headspace, Vergil felt himself release; his cock painting strands of cum against his and Sparda’s stomachs. 

Sparda held Vergil and kissed him deeply as he came shortly after. His hips rolled against the curve of Vergil’s ass as he pumped his cum inside. The king panted breathlessly. Vergil could taste the salt of his sweat when he buried his own red, damp face into Sparda’s neck. Even once Sparda pulled out, they stayed locked in that embrace, pushing the world and its terrible things away.

Vergil could never have what he truly wished for. He’d never be his father’s queen. His father would be king until the day he died. They could not abdicate, because that would be selfish, and the kingdom likely would not survive such a heinous scandal. They would never be  _ just people _ . 

A king and his heir, terribly, devastatingly in love. Not a romance story, but a tragedy. 

Once they cleaned up and settled back into bed, Vergil clung to his father as the drifts of sleep began to wash over them. He would dream of happier lifetimes, wrapped within Sparda’s arms.

Vergil gave Sparda one more goodnight kiss.

“You are my joy, too.”


End file.
